


all the roads that lead you there are winding

by postfixrevolution



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Language, and by party he means make an awkward and blushy mess of himself to his crush and closest friend, it's (late) summer ryuji's got his hat on backwards and it's time to fuckin party, ryuji is extremely defensive of yusuke, takes place after you finish haru's father's palace but before the deadline, they're both kinda awkward but they've never been happier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: Ryujikind ofmakes a scene at the convenience store, but--in his defense--Yusuke's worth way more than some shitty cashier's annoyed glance and the way"weird"sounds like the worst kind of insult as it falls from their lips.aka: ryuji defends yusuke's honor in the middle of a knock-off 777 for completely not-platonic reasons and yusuke thinks it's pretty cool





	all the roads that lead you there are winding

**Author's Note:**

> you fuckin' BET the title is a reference to [wonderwall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx1Bh8ZvH84)
> 
> Beta-read by my illustrious ryukita queen, [fledermauss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fledermauss/profile)!! I hope you all enjoy. ^^

They always end up in the convenience store together after Mementos, and it’s become more and more of a recurring habit since summer has rolled along. Ryuji had snagged a night job at the beef bowl shop just down the street, too, so it feels like Central Street, Shibuya has become his second home.

Mementos was quick and painless today; he and Yusuke were left off of the front lines in order to allow their newest member a chance to hone her skills and Haru more than delivered during their quest to fill Phan-site requests.

Ryuji’s glad that they’re all able to feel like a found family, no matter how large their group gets or how often Morgana feels exactly like the shitty younger brother he never thought he’d have. It’s a good feeling, one that Ryuji never would’ve pictured he could have at the beginning of the year, but a lot of equally unimaginable things have happened since then. Number one on that list is currently standing just five feet away on the opposite side of the aisle, mumbling just loud enough for Ryuji to catch bits and pieces of Yusuke’s complaints over the way the candy bars are organized.

The top of Yusuke’s head is visible from over the shelf, and if the boy would only look up, he would see how plainly hazel eyes were intent on studying him. Dark blue hair, the occasional flash of porcelain flesh, and narrowed graphite-grey eyes are the most that Ryuji can find, but he’s content with just that.

Seeing him isn't the issue anyway; if anything, Ryuji sees Yusuke _too_ often. The giddiness that bubbles up in his gut every time he does has been methodically making a once-unimaginable crush into an extremely tangible tightness in his chest, restless heartbeat ever present behind his eardrums and an insistent warmth simmering just underneath his skin.

There is no exact point marking where Ryuji Sakamoto began to fall in love with Yusuke Kitagawa. Looking back on it, Ryuji can’t tell if he wasn’t always walking on this path to begin with.

“You ready to go yet?” Ryuji voices, loud enough to catch the other boy’s attention from over the top of the aisle. Yusuke looks up, covered from the tip of his nose downward by the shelf between them.

“Just a moment more,” he mutters. “Go on ahead and I will follow shortly.”

Ryuji nods, grabbing a can of soda to the tune of Yusuke muttering something about the _utterly horrendous_ clash of neon green and pale pink packages on the display racks. The words are followed by an obnoxious crinkling sound as the artist no doubt grabs the bags by the fistful, pushing them into a more aesthetically pleasing arrangement. Ryuji doesn't need to turn around to picture the distressed look that no doubt stretches itself across Yusuke’s face, and the imaginary scene makes his stomach flutter.

He places his things atop the counter wordlessly, listening to the absent sounds of Yusuke milling about as the woman behind the register starts keying in her login information for the machine. She takes her time with it, eyes flickering curiously between the blond before her and the blue-haired source of rustles and murmuring. The register's cheery welcome message has just come to life in green analog letters when she finally speaks up.

“Is that your friend over there?”

Ryuji hums affirmatively, hands shoved into his pockets as he waits for her to scan his things.

“I hope he isn’t making a mess,” she mutters suspiciously. Her eyes are narrowed in Yusuke’s direction as he stands as far back from the candy display as the scant aisle space allows, fingers poised to frame the small scene before him. With a click of the tongue, the clerk turns back to Ryuji, reaching forward to begin picking up his things. “He’s a bit of a weirdo, isn't he?”

Ryuji’s eyes flash, hand flying forward to catch her wrist before she can reach his items.

“ _What was that?_ ”

To her credit, she only looks annoyed.

“I only said he’s a bit weird,” she repeats testily, words puffed quickly past her lips as if they were merely a passing thought. Perhaps they are in her mind, but the judgemental look she aims toward Yusuke causes the frown on Ryuji’s face to deepen. In his brief distraction, she wrenches her hand from his grasp. “Now, do you want these things or not? I’ll have you and your weird friend escorted out if you don't buy anything.”

Ryuji scowls in lieu of responding right away, glaring moodily at the imaginary dust he kicks up off the ground with the heel of his ratty chuck taylors.

“He ain't _weird_ ,” he bites out petulantly, fingers curled tight around the crumpled paper bill in his pocket. “He likes art, and he’s just a kid tryin’ stuff out and lookin’ for somewhere he can be good at it. I mean, ain't we all like that?” Under his breath, he adds a quick, “I know I am.”

The woman behind the counter looks unimpressed, and Ryuji clucks his tongue, turning impatiently away.

“Ain't you supposed to be ringin’ me up instead of bein’ a _dick_ to my friend?” he barks suddenly, ears burning way more than he would have liked.

His shout startles both the clerk and Yusuke, who turns abruptly away from verbally critiquing the bold lack of color coordination in the convenience store’s candy bar display. Graphite-grey eyes wordlessly ask what's wrong, and Ryuji swivels back toward the checkout counter, the wildfire that plagues the tips of his ears spreading violently over the skin of his cheeks. Bad enough that the clerk is losing patience with him, but Yusuke’s cool and unblinking gaze always seems to make every flustered situation way worse for the blond.

“Here,” he grunts, unceremoniously slapping a ¥1000 bill on the counter, muttering something about using the change for whatever Yusuke’s buying as he grabs his sweets. “I’m leavin’, Yusuke,” he calls behind him, wasting no time in turning on his heel and ambling out. The bell on the doorframe jingles pleasantly as he goes, cutting off Yusuke’s call to wait up, and Ryuji is out within seconds.

With a huff, he plops unceremoniously down on a bench not far from the convenience store’s entrance, tearing open his ice cream wrapper with his teeth. He’s just thrown the flimsy foil wrap away when the doorframe jingles once again, and hazel eyes lock onto graphite-grey as Yusuke makes his way over, a single box of Pocky in hand. Ryuji moves his soda can so that Yusuke can sit beside him.

“You made quite the scene in there,” Yusuke notes. There’s no question attached to it, but Ryuji knows Yusuke well enough to know there doesn't need to be; he gives truth freely and expects it given in return. Ryuji nibbles at the top of his ice cream, relishing in the cold syrup that melts across his tongue.

“So what if I did? The lady effin’ deserved it, if you ask me.”

Yusuke’s expression is, as always, expectant. It’s hard not to be when he himself always has so much to say. The extra silence he tacks onto the in-betweens of conversations is there in order to be filled; whether or not it is used, Yusuke sits patiently through it.

This silence stretches longer than usual. Ryuji is only able to distract himself with eating the popsicle for so long, trying and failing to ignore how intently Yusuke simply _stares._ With Yusuke’s focus entirely on him, it doesn't take Ryuji long to cave, lowering the popsicle from his mouth with burning ears and a frown.

“She called you a weirdo, alright? And I just thought it was damn shitty of her.”

Yusuke hums contemplatively, a low sound that is underscored by the sound of a bustling Shibuya afternoon and punctuated by the rustle of cardboard and foil as he pries his snack open.

“It’s hardly a new thing,” he reminds him, popping another chocolate covered biscuit between his lips. “You and Ren have used the same word before, after all.”

Ryuji flushes.

“W-well, that's different!” he blurts, determined to stand his ground. “That lady called you weird and looked at you like-- like you didn't belong! That's bullshit! It's a _convenience store_!” Ryuji huffs out an irritated breath. “And besides,” he adds suddenly, a petulant mutter in comparison to his previous fire, “it ain't for her to decide anyway.”

Yusuke blinks at him oddly. “Whether or not I belong in the store?" he asks. “I believe it’s more her say than ours, as she _does_ work there, Ryuji.”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, shouldering the other boy gently. “Not that!” He leans down on his free arm, palm pressed against cool stone as he takes a large bite out of his popsicle, stretching out the time he has to form a reply. It’s still unsurprisingly and extremely cold, and the jolt of pain that flashes through his teeth makes him wince. If only his face could feel that cool, Ryuji laments, but with Yusuke and the summer heat so loudly present beside him, there’s no way his flushed cheeks would find any reprise.

“She doesn't get to... decide where you belong, a-and shit like that. It ain’t for anyone to decide but you,” he says, taking another large bite out of his popsicle in feigned nonchalance. It’s almost gone at this rate, and Ryuji can't tell if the lack of his sugary safety net is terrifying or alluring. Yusuke never seems to notice his awkwardness, or if he does, he never comments on it--something Ryuji is endlessly thankful for.

It’s becoming unfortunately more common these days, the faked calm and awkward attempts at pretending that the pink of his cheeks is only because of the summer heat, that Yusuke’s graphite-grey eyes just _staring_ at him doesn’t drive him and his heartbeat absolutely insane. He knew he was a goner way before Ann laughed at him and teasingly told him so, but some things--Yusuke looking at him with willowy fingers balancing a stick of pocky between his lips, lost in thought and completely unaware of his staring--are just nail after nail in his coffin.

There’s a soft _snap_ as Yusuke breaks the top end of the biscuit off in his mouth, and Ryuji stares as the melting chocolate leaves its mark on the corner of his lip. A contemplative hum reverberates in Yusuke’s throat, but hazel eyes are much too focused on his mouth to notice anything except the barest twitch of them as they curl into the warm afterthought of a smile. Ryuji finishes off the last of his popsicle and bites down on the wooden stick, hard.

“That’s surprisingly profound,” Yusuke notes, sounding thoroughly pleased. Ryuji nods at first, still very much in a daze as he takes his time letting the words register. They do eventually, and the glossy-eyed stupor morphs into embarrassment as his mind stutters out something along the vein of _staring_ and _lips_ and _Yusuke_ , then finally igniting into a sputtering fire as Yusuke’s actual words take root.

“H-hey!” he shouts, jabbing his popsicle stick toward the other’s face. Yusuke, as expected, has the grace to meet Ryuji’s gaze calmly. “Whaddya mean by _surprisingly_? I can be as profound as any other guy!”

The first thing that appears on Yusuke’s face is a look of surprise so genuine that Ryuji immediately deflates. His popsicle stick is lowered and subsequently shoved in his mouth, if only to keep himself from saying anything else. Yusuke notices the change, graphite-grey eyes blinking at him in rapt interest.

While Ryuji does his best to avoid his gaze, hoping his silence speaks for his desire to end the conversation, Yusuke puts his box of Pocky down, looking almost terrifyingly serious. Two insistent hands find his shoulders, and all Ryuji can think about is how Yusuke is never anything if not breathtakingly intense. He feels like somewhat of a dumbass in comparison, melted syrup still smudged across his mouth and cornered in every sense of the word.

Yusuke has him trapped in grey eyes that Ryuji never wants to look away from; in hands steadier than a goddamn rock, heavy and insistent and _comforting_ ; and in Ryuji’s own skin, too hot and too tight for the way he feels his heartbeat surging forward with Yusuke so close.

“I did not mean for you to take it that way,” Yusuke tells him. It’s an apology in a way that only he could manage, forgoing a pleasant _I’m sorry_ to plow directly through to the issue at hand, and it’s something that Ryuji really likes about him--not that the list of such things was short to begin with. “If profoundness were measured in actions, you would be the most profound of us all, Ryuji. That I do not doubt.”

“Yusuke...” Ryuji lets out a breath, plucking the popsicle stick out of his mouth and tossing it away. “Alright, I get what you mean. You don't gotta--"

“No, I do.”

With a calming breath, he releases Ryuji’s shoulders. The blond misses his hands almost instantly, but the shortened distance between them remains the same. “You are always so profound in actions that seeing it translated into words was surprising. But, it was also...” He trails off, lips pursed in thought.

Ryuji looks over at him curiously.

“Alsoooo...?”

Yusuke hums in concentration, the hand that no longer holds onto his Pocky gravitating toward the sleeve of his shirt, willowy fingers fiddling with the edge of the hem.

“It was also... _nice_ ,” he finishes, graphite-grey eyes suddenly trained on the concrete in front of them. It’s a little abrupt and a lot anticlimactic, but Ryuji gawks at him anyway, staring until he swears he can see the beginnings of a light pink blush dusting Yusuke’s cheeks.

“N-nice?” Ryuji echoes dumbly.

“Y-yes. Nice,” Yusuke affirms, just as awkward. He clears his throat, forgoing his sleeve to pick up the Pocky box again. His fingers tap soundlessly against the glossy cardboard, too pristinely managed to leave any room for nails that would clack loudly against the surface. Ryuji finds himself watching them anyway, mesmerized by the contrast between the steadiness of those willowy fingers around a paintbrush and their restlessness now. The fact that _he_ was the reason why forces the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut.

Yusuke clears his throat, and Ryuji looks up to see what is definitely a dark blush dusting his porcelain cheeks. He’s seen his own reflection in convenience store windows far too often _not_ to recognize it and his only coherent thought leaves the word _beautiful_ echoing around relentlessly in his head.

“I admit that you continue to pleasantly surprise me more often than not,” Yusuke admits, and it’s so contemplatively quiet that Ryuji’s embarrassment doubles, halfway in between wondering if that thought was meant for his ears and scrambling to commit everything--down to the very cadence of Yusuke’s voice--to memory. “And I also find that I never tire of it. If anything, I look forward to it every time we meet.”

“ _Every time_ ,” Ryuji can’t help but repeat, an incredulous laugh coloring his words. There is a pounding behind his eardrums that is undoubtedly the excited flutter of his heart, and the steady metronome of it makes everything else feel overwhelmingly real. He tilts his head back and exhales a breathless laugh, forearm pressed over his eyes and shielding his impossibly warm cheeks.

“I-Is something wrong?” Yusuke blurts, voice painted with some mixture of confusion and concern. Lifting his arm just enough to poke one eye out, Ryuji grins at him, shaking his head.

“No way, man.”

He taps the fingers of his free hand against the bench, curling them once experimentally before leaping over to place his hand over Yusuke’s. His fingers curl impatiently and perfectly into the spaces between Yusuke’s own. The red on Yusuke’s cheeks grows even brighter, a sight Ryuji knows he’ll never get tired of, and with graphite-grey eyes averted, Yusuke twists his hand so that their palms press neatly together. His willowy fingers slot into the space between Ryuji’s knuckles like they were never meant to fit anywhere else.

With a face-splitting grin, Ryuji peels his other arm away from his face, blinking rapidly as sunlight floods into his vision once again. He squeezes Yusuke’s hand, drawing the other boy’s attention his way. A quizzical tilt of the head prefaces what quickly blossoms into the biggest smile Ryuji has ever seen on Yusuke’s face, and if there is anything he could look at for the rest of his life, this wins by a longshot.

“This is--"

“Nice?” Ryuji supplies, a teasing edge to his grin. A breathy laugh tumbles past Yusuke’s lips, and the lightness of it stays behind in the glint of his eyes  

“Yes. I could not have said it better myself.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is similar in setting/tone (convenience stores and soft, semi-awkward time spent together) to [my other pre-relationship ryukita piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14579100), so check that one out, too!
> 
> And here is a true testimonial from my beta reader:
> 
> _"YEAH DOES ANYONE ELSE FEEL EXTREMELY TENDY AND GAY IN THIS CHILIS???? JUST ME???? OKAY THATS ALRIGHT TOO"_
> 
> Leave a testimonial of your own in the comments box below, perhaps? :3c


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